


But I Can Walk Much Faster Than This

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, Wordcount: 5.000-15.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean tries to let him go. He doesn't do it very well. Sam tries to move on with his own life, and that goes poorly, too. Dean is pretty far from okay with the things both he and Sam need, and Sam just wants his brother to stop running away.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Can Walk Much Faster Than This

The first thing Dean feels when Sam leaves for Stanford is a loss so intense it threatens to crush him. It's as though his entire world has been ripped in half, and suddenly he can see right through the shredded pieces to the realization that, without Sam, there's nothing there. His dad must feel it, too, because John Winchester climbs into a bottle that night and doesn't crawl out for a solid week.

The second thing Dean feels is relief, with a side order of guilt just for flavor. Because going on a year now, Dean has had thoughts in his head that have no business being there. Thoughts of Sam that he's pretty sure a guy goes to Hell for thinking. Because Sam is just a kid—his little brother—and Dean has started to wonder what it means when he catches Sam looking at him too long. It's not quite true what they say—' _out of sight, out of mind_.' Because Sam is never far from Dean's mind. But Sam's departure is a relief anyway, because there are some things it's easier not to think about with him gone.

The third thing Dean feels might be heartbreak. But that's dangerous territory, and it hurts like nothing else Dean has ever known. He throws himself into hunting and tries to shut that corner of his heart out entirely, because it's so much easier if he just doesn't feel.

 

— || — || — || —

Sam's first year at Stanford goes well enough in the abstract, but subjectively it's Hell on Earth.

It should be liberating to finally escape his father's constant chain of command, but it's a hard transition. Sam can't undo a lifetime of lessons and training. He still knows what's out there, and no amount of denial can stop him from maintaining his regular workout, practice with firearms and the habit of always having a weapon close at hand.

That first year is also when Sam realizes he's never known true loneliness.

He always figured himself familiar with the concept. Always on the move, from one school to another in the blink of an eye. Never time to make real friends, connect with his teachers, participate properly in sports; none of those things a normal kid should get to do.

But he always had Dean.

Now that he doesn't, he's got a new definition of loneliness, and he hates it.

His roommate is friendly enough, but they don't have much in common. Tim is round and excitable, wears glasses with those nearly invisible rims that always sit low on his nose. He likes to play Halo with the other guys on the floor, and doesn't quite get that Sam would rather study than shoot imaginary enemies.

Sam takes bio in the spring, and since he doesn't know anyone in the class he ends up being randomly assigned a lab partner. Her name is Jessica, and he can tell she's not happy to be here. Her lack of enthusiasm bleeds out like a wave, and Sam's pretty sure she isn't impressed with _him_ either. The feeling's mutual enough— _nothing_ impresses him much these days—but she'll do as well as anyone.

"I hate science," she tells him during the second week of class. "Especially biology."

"Then why?" he asks her, fussing with a petri dish.

"Because I hate math more, and chemistry was out."

"Why was chemistry out?"

"Let's just say I don't get along with Bunsen burners and leave it at that."

Three weeks in she gives him a conspiratorial smile and says, "I blew up my chemistry final in high school. My teacher gave me a passing grade just to get rid of me."

She's no good at biology either, so far as Sam can tell, but she tries. The 'A' he earns them in lab work is apparently enough to carry her grade through her lousy test scores. On the last day of class she hugs him hard and says, "Thanks for everything. Stay in touch, okay?"

Sam takes summer classes so he can stay on campus, and gets himself a work study position in the library.

Libraries are supposed to be quiet, but the empty silence is amplified by the summer lull. All it does is remind Sam that he's alone.

 

— || — || — || —

Dean promises himself he'll stay away from Stanford, and for a year and a half after Sam's departure, he succeeds. It's difficult, but not impossible. Just a matter of staying distracted.

No one can scrounge up a hunt like John Winchester, and Dean wonders if he realizes just how badly his son needs it. It's hard enough learning to work as a team of two. The last thing Dean wants is downtime, and apparently his dad is on the exact same page. They move fast and stay busy

But a pace like that can't last forever, and a December night in San Jose sees a hunt go wrong. Dean breaks his arm—thrown off a balcony by an angry spirit, and he doesn't tuck and roll quite right—and John leaves him to recuperate. There's another hunt, one he can't have Dean slowing him down on, and there's no time to waste. Dean understands. Sometimes the window of opportunity is small, and any delay will mean a dozen more deaths.

It still leaves him stranded too close to Sam, and Dean is only human. He hasn't seen his brother in a year and a half, and he needs to see him _now_.

Dean could play this the normal way; call his brother up and see how he's doing, ask if he wants to meet up for a beer and a game of darts. But Dean isn't much for normal, and Sam probably won't answer his phone.

So Dean rides a train that lands him just a couple blocks off campus, arriving at dusk in front of the dorm he already knows is Sam's. He thinks about going in, but his inner stalker knows exactly which window is his brother's; the lights are out, and the evening is too early for Sam to be asleep. He waits outside instead, taking a seat on a wooden bench about ten feet off the sidewalk.

Half a dozen students come and go, some of them alone and others in pairs. None of them take notice of Dean.

When Sam approaches, there's a girl with him. Blonde and beautiful, and she walks with a confident stride. Her eyes are wide and hopeful and all for Sam, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek. He sits absolutely still, silent patience, suddenly intent on letting them pass. He's not sure he wants to see this, and he sure as hell doesn't want to interrupt it. He'll just wait until Sam is out of sight, and he'll get his ass out of town.

He should know better, and of _course_ Sam spots him from the sidewalk.

" _Dean_?" Sam steps onto the grass and approaches with incredulous eyes, the girl following uncertainly behind him.

"Hey, Sammy," says Dean, face suddenly hot as he stands to greet his brother. They don't hug, and the distance hurts like hell.

"What happened?" Sam asks, taking in Dean's cast with alarm. "Is Dad… is everything okay?"

"Yeah," says Dean, quick to reassure. "Dad's fine. Just ditched my ass for a few days."

"Oh," says Sam, and for a moment the silence is painfully awkward. Dean waits it out for a count of five, then coughs pointedly. It's enough to snap Sam out of whatever bottomless well he fell into, and he has the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Dean, this is Jessica," he says. "Jess, this is my brother Dean."

"Hi," says Jess, and she looks sheepish as she shakes his hand. Like maybe she didn't even know Sam _had_ a brother, and now she doesn't know what to say.

"Hey." Dean's pretty much in the same boat, no idea himself what conversational topics are appropriate for one's estranged brother and the girl he may or may not be going out with. He hopes his smile is convincing enough to mask just how much he regrets showing his face in the first place. "Listen, I'm gonna take off. Shouldn't have just dropped in unannounced like this. We'll… catch up another time, okay?"

He starts to leave, but Jess says, "Wait!" and Dean stops in his tracks. He reluctantly turns to face her.

"Sam and I were just going to review for a quiz, it's no big deal."

His brother's been standing so still that Dean startles when Sam turns to look at Jess and ask her, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she says, and her smile is genuine. "I get the feeling it's been awhile since you guys saw each other. We can meet up later."

She hugs Sam goodbye before she goes, and Sam stands there looking shell-shocked for just a moment longer before fumbling for his keys and leading the way into the dorm.

"She your girlfriend?" Dean asks as he trails Sam up the stairs and down a long hallway.

"What?" Sam looks befuddled at the question. "No, of course not." They stop at a door that looks just like the rest, and Sam unlocks it. Inside is a small space, practically bisected. Bunk beds, and there's a matched set of everything else set up along two opposite walls. One side is a pit, the other sparse and pristine. No question which one is Sam's.

"She _should_ be," Dean supplies helpfully. "Girl's hot _and_ totally into you."

"No she's not."

"Sam. Dude. Who on this _planet_ reads these things better than me?" Dean forces a smirk to his face and perches on the edge of Sam's desk. "Trust me, she's just waiting for you to catch up."

Sam pulls out the desk chair and sits; crosses his arms and looks up at Dean.

"You're serious," says Sam.

"She's got it _bad_ , man."

An odd silence settles between them, and it leaves Dean wondering what he's missing. Sam's eyes are bright and determined, waiting him out, except Dean has no idea what he's supposed to do now. It's like Sam's got a head start, and Dean's supposed to hop a bus and close the distance. Hard to do without knowing the destination.

"Why did you come, Dean?" asks Sam, his voice an echo of quiet curiosity.

Dean knows he could bluster about broken arms and boredom. Or maybe divert and distract by talking about their crazy father and the new most ridiculous thing he's found to hunt. Even just shrug and be done with it.

"I missed you," he says instead.

He's ready for Sam to blow him off. It goes against the Winchester code, Dean talking about his feelings like this, and he's completely prepared for Sam to brush the statement aside.

He's not prepared for the standing step Sam takes into his space, or the intense look darkening his brother's eyes. Dean didn't see this coming, and now he doesn't know how to react as Sam leans in closer, a whisper of breath between them, and his brother can only have one objective in mind.

Dean is frozen in place, can't move or react to Sam's approach, and he can feel the barest touch of his brother's lips when the sound of the door startles them apart. Perfect timing, or maybe the worst timing in the _world_ , as a guy that must be Sam's roommate stumbles in backwards. He's got a TV in his arms, and he sets it down hard as he turns to offer pleasant greetings.

By then Sam and Dean have several feet of space between them. Dean can feel his brother's eyes on him all through the brief introductions, and he knows if he ends up alone in this room with Sam again it will be a disaster of untold proportions.

"I should probably hit the road," he says, words forced casual through the deafening pound of his own pulse in his ears. "It was great to see you, man." He thumps Sam on the back, waving awkward goodbye with his good arm as he says, "Stay in touch!" Dean's face feels hot and tight, the world honed bright with adrenaline as he makes his way along the sidewalk. He walks almost a mile in the wrong direction, completely distracted, and has to backtrack to find the train station. He never once mentions the visit to his father.

 

— || — || — || —

Sam knows his brother well enough to know Dean won't be back, and he tries not to resent the fumbled opportunity. He reminds himself repeatedly that even if he'd gotten to follow through, it would have ended badly. Dean wouldn't have bolted so fast if he and Sam were on the same page.

He asks Jessica out a week later, and tells himself it's just to prove his brother wrong. She'll turn him down, and they'll laugh, and someday Sam will get to look his brother in the eye and say ' _I told you so_.'

It pretty much figures Dean is right. Sam is a bright boy, even if he _is_ a bit oblivious, and he knows how to read the signals when Jess doesn't even let him finish before saying yes.

Sam likes Jessica, and it turns out she's more fun to date than she is to study with. Quick and spontaneous, and it occurs to Sam that she's beautiful, too. He sees envy in his classmates' eyes whenever she kisses him on the main quad. He gives it a genuine try, puts his whole heart into it, but in the end it turns out his heart belongs elsewhere.

They've been dating for almost a year when he finally works up the balls to end it, because he knows it's not fair. Jess is sweet and gorgeous and _perfect_ —okay, not perfect. She's got a competitive streak and a nail polish obsession, and she hates mornings. But she's just what Sam is supposed to need, and she's been nothing but good to him. He hates to break her heart.

"Why?" she asks him after he finally gets the words out. The question isn't accusing or betrayed; just sad. "Is it something about me?"

"No," he says, and takes her hand. They're north of the art building, a secluded grove mostly to themselves as the sun sets pink. "No, you're incredible, and I'm an idiot and a freak."

"Is there someone else?" she asks, and his breath hitches in his chest. "I don't mean 'are you cheating' or anything," she's quick to clarify. "I know you better than that. I just… is there?"

He lets the question sit for a moment, but the reality is she deserves the truth. He nods, ashamed and a little bit numb.

"Yeah," he says. "There sort of is. Not that it's ever gonna happen, but… yeah."

He's not looking at Jess right now. Too busy feigning fascination with the silhouettes of the darkening treetops. He wants to know if this conversation can be over now, but he doesn't want to meet her eyes. He lets the silence stretch instead.

"He's not really your brother, is he." She doesn't ask it like a question, and suddenly Sam can't breathe. To tell the truth is to damn himself, but she doesn't deserve a lie. He holds frozen and doesn't speak; doesn't confirm or deny as he waits out the storm.

She finally stands to leave without so much as a goodbye. Sam catches the movement in his peripheral vision, but he doesn't turn, and he doesn't watch her go.

That night he calls Dean and leaves a voicemail. He might be a little drunk when he does it, tired and lonely. He hasn't spoken to Dean since sophomore year, and now the spring of Sam's junior year is upon him. Dean's voicemail intro hasn't changed.

"Dean," says Sam, and the cell phone is heavy in his hand. "You were wrong, man. Going out with Jess was a terrible idea. But you knew that, didn't you. You were just trying to distract me. You're a selfish dick, you know that?" He almost ends the call right there, but some quiet, pleading corner of his brain won't let him. "I miss you," is the last thing he says before hanging up.

That night he sleeps for shit.

 

— || — || — || —

Dean gets the message somewhere in Missouri, and when John asks what's wrong, he lies about it. Tells him it's Cassie, that girl he dated in Ohio; the one who dumped him on his ass just before they came here. He says she wanted to apologize, and if his dad had ever met the girl he would know better. But as it is he just smiles sadly and nods. It leaves Dean with a pit in his stomach, asking himself why he bothered to lie.

He waits almost a full month before doing anything besides think about it, but when John buys a truck and hands over the keys to the Impala, Dean knows exactly where he's going to drive her first. He watches his dad's tail lights disappear to the East, and then Dean drives straight through to California.

The semester has ended by then, and Dean has to poke around for an extra day and a half to figure out that Sam's got a new place off campus. It's a small, single bedroom apartment, and Dean breaks in easily even though it's the middle of the afternoon. He snags a beer from the fridge and nurses it for three hours as he waits for his brother to come back from work or summer classes or whatever the hell else he's doing.

"Hey, Sammy," he says, when the front door finally opens. His brother's shock broadcasts wide, his eyes bright and open as the bag of groceries falls to the floor.

" _Dean_ ," says Sam, kicking the bag aside just enough for the door to close. He doesn't bother picking it up. Too busy striding right up to where Dean stands leaning on the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sam demands, and there's awe in his voice.

Dean can't quite think with Sam standing so close. The evening sun hangs low, bright beams slicing through the window, and Dean tries to remember why he came—or maybe why he stayed away for so long.

"I got your message," is all he can think to say.

It's sudden as blinking, a whisper of movement, and suddenly Sam is kissing him. Soft and possessive and completely unapologetic—and it's all Dean can do to push Sam away. He takes a step to the side and scrubs a hand across his face, trying to jumpstart his brain.

"I didn't come here for that," he says.

Sam follows his retreat and steps right back into his space, huge and looming but not quite touching, and he says, "The hell you didn't."

Dean wants to protest, maybe loudly enough to convince himself as well as Sam, but his brother's eyes are looking right through him. Sussing him out with a penetrating clarity, and Dean swallows hard against a terror that feels like inevitability. He can't keep pretending he doesn't want Sam; he's been failing at it too long already.

But he can't walk smiling into this either. The fact it's inevitable doesn't make it _right_. He breaks away under Sam's gaze to stare helplessly at the floor.

"Sam, I can't," he whispers, and the words hurt in his throat.

"It's okay," says Sam, soft like a secret, and takes all of half a step forward to press Dean tight against the counter. Dean makes a choked sound in surprise, but he keeps his eyes averted.

"Look at me," says Sam, and Dean shakes his head. He startles when Sam cups a hand beneath his chin and urges his face to tilt upwards, the pressure a quiet force of command, and Dean shivers when their eyes finally lock. "I've got you, Dean," Sam murmurs. "Okay?"

When Sam's mouth finds him this time, it's demanding and deep, Sam's whole body bracketing him in as his hand cups Dean's skull and directs the kiss. The edge of the counter digs in uncomfortably against Dean's hip, a point of reality keeping him grounded while his head spins with the feel and taste of Sam. It's intoxicating, and already just the hint of friction threatens to drive him mad.

Dean raises his hands to Sam's chest and gives a shove, just to see if he can. Just to see if it does an ounce of good, and his blood shivers hot when Sam doesn't budge an inch. His brother bulked out when he wasn't looking, turned into this towering monster of a man, and something beneath Dean's skin thrills at the thought that Sam could hold him completely helpless. Could pin him down and do _anything_ , if he wanted, and Dean would be powerless to stop it. He pushes harder, because he knows Sam won't stop for anything but words, and all it does is drive home the fact that his brother is an immovable wall. A furnace of want and heat and determination that's focused entirely on Dean.

Dean's legs part obediently when Sam nudges a knee between them, and the thigh that nestles in against Dean's dick is just what he needs. Perfect and unyielding, just right for Dean to rub against, try and take the edge off but all it does is wind him up more. He whimpers into Sam's mouth, the slide of Sam's thigh between his legs still not _enough_ , and he's not trying to push Sam away. Not anymore, too busy hanging on for dear life as his brother rocks against him and Dean's dick insists that an orgasm would be _awesome_ right about now.

Sam takes Dean's lower lip between his teeth, a quick, taunting bite just before he breaks the kiss. Dean moans on empty air, his eyes closed and head thrown back, and Sam's lips at his throat are wet with fire.

"That's it," says Sam, and Dean feels the words through his skin. It's not goddamn fair for his brother to sound so put together, solid and collected as Dean falls to messy pieces. "Come on, man," Sam murmurs against his ear. "So close, want to see you come apart."

"More," Dean whimpers, and it's broken and needy—shattered in a way he'll be ashamed about later. "Sam, _please_ , need—"

"Yeah," says Sam, and yes, god, _thank you_ , his hand is at Dean's fly. Popping the button and pulling the zipper down, hand dipping inside and _that's_ the pressure Dean needs. Sam doesn't bother pulling him out into the open air, just works Dean's dick in the confines of his boxers, denim offering barely enough room to work. But it's finally enough, the dry warmth of Sam's palm squeezing and sliding along Dean's length, and Dean comes with a cry, burying his face against his brother's chest as Sam works him through it and eases him down.

He's not sure what he'll see when he looks at Sam after, and it makes him reluctant to move. He feels safe here, warm and protected in Sam's arms, and he doesn't want to give that up. Not with reality hovering close, with the potential to crush them to bits.

When he finally meets his brother's eyes, they're wide and bright, a heavy intensity that Dean's not sure how to read until he realizes that Sam is still hard against his thigh.

"Sam?" he says, and hopes his uncertainty carries through. Because he can't do this on his own. He needs direction, and Sam's expression is dark with heat.

"Your mouth, Dean." Sam's voice sounds edgy with want, hand a soft touch against Dean's face as Sam's thumb rubs back and forth across his lower lip. It's the hand that was just down Dean's pants, and he can smell himself on Sam's skin, can taste it when he takes the tip of Sam's thumb between his lips.

" _Fuck_ ," Sam hisses, jerking his hand away like Dean's mouth is fire that might burn him if he's not careful. There's calculation there when he meets Dean's eyes again, and he takes a deliberate step back, leaving Dean bereft at the sudden loss of contact.

But Sam's hands are on him, their own unyielding heat, on Dean's shoulders and pushing down. Dean's brain isn't quite keeping up, but he follows the wordless command. Lets Sam's hands guide him down until he's on his knees, and _then_ he gets it. Dean is right in line now, and he can see Sam's erection straining against denim inches from his face. Sam's thumb plays across his lower lip again, and Dean knows what he's meant to do. He knows, but he's terrified to make a move.

"Have you ever done this before?" Sam asks him, concern in his eyes, though Dean's pretty sure Sam wouldn't stop if the answer was no. Dean nods, no way he trusts his voice right now, and Sam's eyes cloud over with lust as he sets one hand on the back of Dean's neck and uses the other to open his fly. Dean watches with eager fascination as Sam slips a hand into his boxers and pulls out his cock, red and hard and impossibly huge. Dean's eyes go wide at the sight, and in his peripheral vision he catches the smug smirk on Sam's face.

Sam steps closer, and the hand on Dean's neck guides him inexorably forward.

Dean _has_ done this before. Not many times, but he's done it. And maybe he's even imagined it was Sam once or twice. But imagining and having are two unfathomably different things, and Dean feels a heady rush as he closes his lips tentatively around the head of his brother's cock. Sam hisses a breath above him, hand tightening on the back of Dean's neck, and Dean takes that for encouragement and gets to work.

Sam is an unfamiliar weight against his tongue, and a bitter tang that Dean thinks he might just get addicted to. He tries to be careful of teeth, works his lips wide around Sam's impressive girth, and swallows him down as deep as he can. Which isn't very deep at all, but his brother doesn't seem to mind.

The hand at the back of Dean's neck is a barometer, telling him how close Sam is to falling apart. Sam clings to the countertop with his free hand and doesn't really need Dean supporting him, but Dean finds himself grasping denim anyway, Sam's thigh warm beneath one palm as Dean's other hand slides slick along Sam's cock, calculated counterpoint to each suck and swallow.

Sam's voice is a wave of heated nonsense above him, a mantra of ' _fuck_ ' and ' _yes_ ' and ' _god, Dean_ ' that trails inarticulate just in time to give Dean warning. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do—doesn't even know himself whether he wants to swallow or let Sam make a total mess of him—and he freezes up somewhere halfway between, with just the tip of Sam's cock between his lips. But Sam has it under control, and he drags Dean forward on his cock; his orgasm floods Dean's throat, leaves him no choice but to swallow, greedy for every drop. Dean thinks he could drown, and he might not even mind.

Reality is too familiar a weight, and he feels unsettled and awkward when he gets to his feet, dragging the back of one hand across his mouth as he watches Sam force his breathing under control and tuck himself away. When Sam looks at him, it's a new, careful scrutiny. It makes Dean want to run for cover.

"We okay?" Sam asks, stepping in close.

Dean tries to stand his ground. He wants to nod, and tell Sam they're cool, and offer every reassurance he can.

He bolts instead, and the door slams impossibly loud behind him.

 

— || — || — || —

Sam spends three days freaking out to the fear that he forced Dean into doing something he didn't want. But he's always been the analytical one, the compulsive _thinker_ in the family, and every hint leads to the conclusion that he did no such thing. Sam knows his brother too well, knows that Dean is smart enough to have called stop out loud or elbowed Sam in the solar plexus or done any of a dozen other things that would easily have clued Sam in. There's no way Dean dropped to his knees and gave Sam the best blowjob of his _life_ under anything but his own volition.

But the fact that Dean was willing isn't much consolation when his brother isn't _here_ , and Sam can't decide if waiting it out is a good plan.

He leaves one voicemail after another on Dean's phone, pleading and cajoling and trying to convince him to come back.

"You can have a do-over," one message says. "Clean slate, it never happened. Just stop by and we'll _talk_ , okay? Or we don't have to talk. We can just get some nachos at the pub on the corner. Call me, man." Dean doesn't call.

Sam nearly gives up hope over the agonizing stretch of summer, buries himself in LSAT prep work and law school applications. The fall of his senior year is surreal, like a final dash to the finish line before he graduates and starts all over again.

He's got the same apartment, a little more furniture, when Dean finally drops back in. Sam's heart feels suddenly swollen at the sight of him, a smile filled with hopeful relief splitting across his face.

"Dean," he says, and catches his brother in a crushing hug. "God it's good to see you."

"You, too." Sam can't read the tremor in his brother's voice. When he moves in for a kiss, it's slow and cautious. He deliberately broadcasts his intentions, gives Dean time to evade. Sam's spine thrills with excitement when their lips finally touch, easy and intimate and not quite familiar, and Dean opens readily to let him in.

There's no _way_ Sam is keeping himself in check after that, and he walks backward with Dean in tow, not releasing him for so much as a breath of air until he feels the couch against his calves. He drops to sitting, and pulls Dean down after him—right into a straddle across his lap—and kisses him again. Hungry and entitled, tug of teeth on Dean's lower lip, and Dean's hands are warm and reassuring when they settle on his chest.

Sam wants to get lost in this, just rub and groan and take Dean apart with him. But first things first, and he hasn't seen his brother in _months_. So he draws back with a reluctant sigh, and he barely has to tilt his head back at all to meet Dean's eyes.

"I'm glad you came back," he says, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You staying?"

"For a couple of days," says Dean. It's not the forever Sam was hoping for, but Dean says it with a smirk, an easy warmth in his voice that says it'll be a _great_ couple of days.

"Are we good?" Sam asks, even though what he really wants to say is ' _so you finally decided to stop freaking out, huh?_ '

"Yeah. We're good."

And even though this is a goddamn distracting position for a conversation, and even though there are a hundred things he wants to do to Dean now that he's got him back, Sam says, "Just a couple days, huh? How come?"

"I've got my eye on a gig in New Orleans. Gonna take care of it and meet back up with Dad. I just… wanted to check in, I guess. Wanted to see you."

Sam's face is warm with the fact that Dean is here practically for the hell of it—just wanted to _see_ him—but he can't squash the startled disbelief that has him saying, "You're going on a _solo hunt_?" He prefers his brother _alive_ , thanks, and what is their dad thinking letting him hunt alone?

"Well sure, why not? Dad does it all the time."

"Yeah well… he's _Dad_. You're—"

"Twenty-six," Dean points out, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Do you want me to list all the ways this could go poorly?"

"Have a little faith, dude," Dean laughs, and he slides a hand up Sam's chest as he says it; brings it to rest at Sam's shoulder, warm slip-slide of Dean's thumb against his throat, and Sam barely notices that his brother is still talking. "I'm _awesome_ , remember? Besides, it's probably just voodoo. Long as I don't piss anyone off, I should be fine."

Sam doesn't mean to look skeptical, he _honestly_ doesn't. But it's an automatic response, and ridiculous to think of his brother not angering the locals. Dean can't possibly miss it, and gives a put-upon sigh.

"I'll make a special effort."

"Promise you'll call me if you need backup," Sam insists.

"Don't you have classes or something?"

"I can miss a couple no problem. My GPA doesn't matter anymore."

"Why the hell not?"

"I sent my last law school application in last week, transcripts and all. Long as I pass my classes, I'm golden. It's no big deal if I miss a few days." Sam's pretty sure he's making sense, though he can't vouch for it with Dean in his lap, warm and close and distracting. But he's sure he's speaking coherent English at least, which makes him curious why Dean is staring at him like he's spontaneously sprouted a second head. "What?" he asks.

"Law school?" says Dean. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. So?" He doesn't mean to make a challenge out of it, but he hears it in his voice just the same, feels it in the stubborn jut of his chin.

"That's awesome, Sammy," Dean says softly, and the soft light of pride in his eyes melts Sam right to the core.

"Thanks," he says, and kisses Dean again.

Maybe he'll ditch the rest of the week and go to New Orleans. He's got a feeling in a couple of hours his brother won't remember how to say no.

 

— || — || — || —

Dean's not sure how he let Sam talk him into this, but Sam is in the car beside him as he drives South. Was supposed to be his first solo gig, but he doesn't care about that now. Having Sam at his side again is too much perfect, and maybe it's lucky he's along. Sam has always been better at diplomacy than Dean, and when they get to Louisiana, it turns out Dean was dead-on with his voodoo instinct.

Most of all, Dean is relieved to have Sam with him when John misses their meet-up three days later, leaving an ominous voicemail instead.

It's broken by static, but clear enough, his dad's voice a quiet tone that Dean recognizes as fear when John warns him that something big is coming. "Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger."

There's a hiss of EVP over the message, and Dean hands his phone over so Sam can listen. The look his brother gives him says that Dean's not driving back to Stanford tonight.

They're going to Jericho instead.


End file.
